Highly Unlikely
by felinefemme
Summary: Written for Let's Write Sherlock Challenge 5, wherein Anderson and Donovan pretend to be a couple, Molly and Lestrade are trapped, and Dimmock saves the day. Hellz yeah.
1. Chapter 1

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade wants to put his head in his hands and call it a day. The fact that Anderson and Donovan had volunteered for the undercover detail should've tipped him off, but of course, he usually has complete confidence in his team. But here they all are, in this nice little restaurant, and the forensic expert and detective are as stiff and formal with each other as they are at work. The graying detective inspector checks his watch, then takes another gulp of tepid coffee, bored of watching the rest of the place not-react to the non-couple on stakeout.

Then a bright voice says, "Hi, Greg! Um, I mean …"

He looks up to see the forensic girl from Sherlock's Christmas party (he still thinks of it as that, even though John organized the whole thing) waving and smiling nervously at him. When he sees her standing there, several thoughts come to mind: a) the longer the normally-shy Molly stands there, the more she's going to stand out, b) if she does that, the target will focus on her, not on Anderson and Donovan, c) Anderson and Donovan make a crap couple, and d) change of plans. As he waves Molly Hooper over with a smile, he murmurs behind his coffee cup, "Change of plans, me and Dr. Hooper will be decoys."

Donovan sputters into her coffee, while Anderson pointedly tries not to glare at Lestrade. Lestrade, however, doesn't care, as the fetching Dr. Hooper takes a seat opposite from him. "Greg is fine," he smiles at the girl, no, woman, reassuringly. "How are you, Molly?"

"What? Oh, fine, I'm fine," she babbles, her mouth doing interesting things opposite from the rest of her face. She's got her long dark hair tied behind her right ear, wearing a light green sweater and dark brown slacks, which, unlike her Christmas dress, leaves everything to the imagination. Part of him thinks it's a pity, but most of him figures it's a good thing, he needs to keep his wits about him. "So, come here often?" Once the words leave her mouth, she grimaces. "Oh, that sounds bad, doesn't it?"

He chuckles, and she relaxes marginally. "Not really," he says. "What'll you have? It's on me."

"Huh? Oh no, no, I'm fine," she says, blushing a little.

He shakes his head, then leans forward. "Don't worry, it's on the company tab," he says in a lower voice, and smiles as he leans back, seeing her giggle. "Smiling's a good look on you," he says.

The long-haired girl ducks her head shyly. "Thanks," she says, and almost jumps out of her seat when the server comes by. "Oh! Hello. Um, I'll have the soup of the day, the turkey melt, and coffee. Um, cream and sugar, please," she adds belatedly when she sees there's none by the inspector. The server nods briefly to her nervous smile and leaves. "This is a nice place, I always wanted to come here," she babbles, her eyes now darting around since her order's been taken.

"Why haven't you come by before?" Lestrade asks, honestly curious. "It's close by, food's good, and so are the prices."

She shrugged. "It has that sort of, I don't know, swanky air, I guess," she answered, her mouth twitching up into a smile. Molly looked down at her hands, her smile evening out into something more gentle. "I used to be afraid I'd run into Sherlock here, but John says that nobody here owes Sherlock anything, and they're more of a take-away sort."

"I'm glad you came, then," Lestrade finds himself patting her hands, and she looks up, a bit startled. So is he, to tell the truth, but puts a game face on, if not for their target, then for her. "I thought I'd be here by myself for a while."

"Is it your day off, then?" she asks innocently.

He smiled. "I wish," he says, heartfelt, ignoring the groans in his earpiece. Trust the original screw-ups to be mocking him. It's been ages since he's been on the pull, even if the divorce had been done what feels like years ago, but Molly seems, well, harmless. And it's not like it's a real date, she's just a last-minute pleasant change of plans. They make more small talk, then her food arrives, and he's sipping at his now-lukewarm coffee. The server surprises him by refreshing his cup, and he nods in thanks. "You're right, this place is swanky," he grins when the server leaves, "that, or I'm getting better service because of you."

She blinks, then giggles. "I doubt that," she says, blushing anyways, "it's probably because you're a good customer."

He shakes his head mock-sadly. "I doubt that," he echoes her, "I've been coming here off and on for at least five years, and only now do I get prompt service."

Her blush deepens, but rather than argue, she finishes her meal. He likes that she eats a good, hearty meal, none of that picking-at-grass-in-a-bowl sort of thing. "Thanks for, um, lunch? Dinner? My hours are odd, I'm not sure anymore," her voice trails off again, and her eyes, which used to be on him, are skittish again.

Lestrade puts his hand on hers, and she stiffens, or at least, steadies a bit, her large dark eyes back on his face. Good. He's not sure why it's good, but he thinks it's good. "Thank you for your company, Molly," he says. "All right if I escort you back to work?"

"Oh! No, I'm fine," she covers her mouth as if to cover her pleased, yet embarrassed expression. "I walked here, so -"

He smiled as he waived the server over. "I'm not going to carry you in my arms," he teased, "just walk you back to your job."

"What? Oh. I knew that," she said, and he could see she wanted to slide down into her seat if she could. She watched as Lestrade paid the bill, and exhaled noisily. "All right, then," she said, and as she got up, the server pulled her chair out, but Lestrade escorted her out with a hand to the small of her back. "Oh! Um, er, thank you," she stuttered, her head going down, then up.

"You make a perfect date, Molly Hooper," Lestrade said fondly, ignoring the gagging noises now in his earpiece.

"D-date?" she stammered, bewildered, starting to walk away. Then she squeaked as he pulled her back onto the sidewalk and away from a car blindly making a turn. "Thank you," she breathed, clutching at his coat collar.

He was loathe to let go of her so soon, but he did, mentally forcing himself to do so. "Yeah, well," he found himself getting bashful now, seeing her look at him the same way she does to Sherlock, and with that thought, he got both depressed and practical again. "You have a good day, then."

And that's when the lights went out for both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

The forensic examiner and the sergeant don't quite look the young man in the eye when they give him the report at the station. "Why is he missing?" Detective Inspector Dimmock stared at them. "Please don't tell me that Holmes nutter was involved."

Anderson and Donovan glance at each other, surprised he'd come to that conclusion, but the rat-faced man makes a sour face. "Surprisingly, no," Anderson said dourly, "we believe Brenner's gang was the cause."

"And you didn't see anyone suspicious around them," Dimmock goes on, not quite patiently, hitching his thumbs in his pockets.

"No, sir," Donovan replies, as toneless as she can manage without gritting her teeth. She should've talked him out of it, but then, she's never been able to talk her boss out of anything boneheaded, including consulting that freak. Then again, Lestrade gets results from his foolhardiness, but this time, the result wasn't what they wanted. "We didn't want to spook the target."

"Good job, then," the detective inspector said sourly, "Max Brenner and his colleagues now have Lestrade and a bystander who wasn't even apprised of the situation before he pulled her in."

Donovan's lips thin considerably. "Molly Hooper isn't exactly a bystander," she says reluctantly, "she's a coroner at St. Bart's, does autopsies for us."

Dimmock frowned, then pulled out a notebook. "Hooper, St. Bart's," he murmured, then sighed loudly. "Honestly, this stinks of Sherlock Holmes and he isn't even here." He could feel his hair gray, if it didn't run away from his forehead entirely. "All right, let's have another look at the last spots where Brenner's victims were taken and found. We're missing something, and it's not just Lestrade."

The mocha-skinned woman and the pale man nodded at each other, and pull out photos from the files. "Brenner's gang takes them from all parts of London," Donovan says, as if by rote, "and leaves them all over London."

"Yes, making it easier for us to narrow our search somewhat," Dimmock says, his eyes almost absently scanning the photos. "How long ago was Lestrade's earpiece destroyed?"

Anderson checks his watch. "About thirteen minutes ago," he answers.

"And it was found less than ten minutes ago," Dimmock says, "Anderson, find what you can from the pieces." When the forensic examiner doesn't move, the youthful D.I. glared at him. "Well? Lestrade isn't painting his nails waiting for the results!" As soon as Anderson hustled, he sighed. "I'm surprised someone got the drop on him," he muttered.

"Same here," Donovan frowned. "Especially if a civilian was involved."

"You said she wasn't exactly a civilian," Dimmock reminded her.

"Yeah, but she's not a copper, she's a doctor," she retorted. "And not a very social one, either."

The D.I. nodded, "Yeah, got that. Still, it's not like she was part of the plan in the first place." Then he frowned. "Does he do this a lot, flying by the seat of his pants?"

The sergeant pursed her lips. "He prefers to call it 'following his instincts'. It usually doesn't go as pear-shaped like this, sir." She narrowed her gaze at the photos on the table. "Brenner doesn't repeat his pickups or drops. In fact, he makes sure none of them repeats."

"Which is why we're having a damned time catching him," Dimmock snapped, "I know that. But there's a pattern, there's always a pattern, we just don't see it yet …"

"Pickups in daylight, drop-offs at night," Donovan sing-songs, then shakes her head. "Other than that, there seems to be no rhyme or reason."

"Of course there is," Dimmock said flatly. "Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get away with this as long as he has."

She and the D.I. stare at each other, already tired of the other's company. "Right, give me time to read the files again," she said, "sir."

Dimmock nodded, and he's left alone with the white erase board filled with the same general facts as those in the files, along with the new information. He stared at the photo of Lestrade, which looked less like an ID photo and more like a mugshot, along with the Xeroxed photo of Hooper looking like she was constantly surprised. Perhaps she was.

Then he closed his eyes, wishing the nightmare hadn't become so damn personal.


	3. Chapter 3

"Molly?"

"Yeah?"

"You all right?"

"Not really. In fact, when we get out of this, I think I'm going to punch you," she said, wriggling against his back.

"Sounds about right to me," Lestrade sighed, then wished he didn't. One of Brenner's gang had kicked him in the ribs when they found his earpiece, and it hurt like, well, like it hurt a lot. "Ow."

Seemed like they were in an unlit large room, and by the dank smell of it, probably underground. Bound back-to-back, they're sitting on the floor, and fully clothed. So far, it matches up with what they've found from the previous victims. All they need are the knife wounds across their necks as well as being dead, and they'll match up precisely to the others. Judging by the fullness of his bladder, they've been down here about four to five hours, which meant their kidnappers were due to be back soon, it was almost dark. "It was supposed to be Donovan and Anderson," he says after a while.

"What, tied up here?" Molly snapped tiredly, still twitching.

"Well, hopefully flushing out whoever got us," Lestrade grimaced. "I'm sorry."

"Good," she muttered, and he wondered how getting kidnapped made her seem stronger. "I've seen them on the gurneys, you know. The couples."

"Oh, God," he groaned. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Don't be," she said, "it's part of my job. This, however, isn't." Then she sighed. "This is going to hurt."

"Yeah, it is," Lestrade agreed, when it felt like she was trying to tear his wrists off. "OW!"

She didn't say anything, just continued trying to dislocate his wrists from his arms, until she fell to the floor. "Told you it would hurt," she gasped, and he realized he could not only breathe comfortably, but he was free. "Good thing John used to get kidnapped so often, gives a girl ideas."

He stared at her, or tried to, in the gloom. "What kind of ideas?" he asked, half-wishing he didn't sound like a perv right then.

"Greg!" Molly said, sounding scandalized, in spite of the situation.

He chuckled. Good to know she hadn't changed into Xena entirely. "What the hell do you have on you?" he asked, reaching a hand out.

It seemed she was doing the same thing, for her hand found his, and grabbed it. "Couple of surgery knives tucked in the back," she said, "want one?"

"Yes, please," he said, although he wanted to say, God, I love you, woman.

Then they heard the door open, and they both tensed, ready to strike when the lights came on.


	4. Chapter 4

"Put your weapons down, you're surrounded!" Dimmock shouted, their torches throwing everything into stark relief. "Lestrade!" he added, in a more dumbfounded tone.

Donovan found the light switch and they all turned off their torches. "Good to see you alive and well, sir," she said, relief evident in spite of herself. "How are you, Ms. Hooper?"

Lestrade and the mousy coroner looked at each other, then at the knives in their hands, and smiled sheepishly. "Guess the cavalry came in time, eh?" the elder D.I. said, handing his knife to the long-haired woman, who smiled as she tucked it into her surprisingly large pockets. "Got everyone?" he asked Donovan and Dimmock, who were staring at them.

"Hm? Oh, yes," Dimmock is the first to shake out of it. "This was the last room. Glad to find you both alive and well and all."

"So, how'd you find us?" Lestrade asks briskly, as if he's used to getting kidnapped and freed. Then again, this is Greg Lestrade, who consulted with Sherlock Holmes regularly, so who knows what his work load is like. Already, he looks like he's back in charge, although he screwed up spectacularly, with Sgt. Donovan escorting Ms. Hooper to the waiting ambulance.

"Your sergeant noted the use of bus stops as drop off points, most of which had this area in common. Anderson found some evidence pointing to a number of warehouses in this area, but only this building seemed to show some recent use," the younger D.I. answered, "we rounded up the SWAT team and here we are."

"You're generous with your credits," Lestrade noted, and Dimmock made a face. "I'm guessing this is all going in your report."

"Yes," Dimmock said shortly. "Everything."

The older man looked like he aged about ten years right there, but he just nodded. "Right then. You'll have my report on your desk tomorrow."

"My," Dimmock blinked. So he was officially in charge, now that it was all over? Grand timing, that. Then again, there was no way Lestrade could write up the final report, not after what he did. "Fine. Need some coffee?"

"Nah, had enough of that," the older man grimaced. "See you tomorrow."

The younger man watched with a bemused expression as Lestrade made his way to the ambulance, joining the young woman and using her orange blanket to wrap it around them both. Dimmock snorted, then went back to the office, where he stretched and smiled. Other people might turn their noses up at writing the final report, but to him, he considered it something akin to high marks at school. Yes, he was that boy in school who was an overachiever, but he could almost feel the tingles at the tips of his fingertips as he switched his computer on. The fact that the person who was originally in charge actually turned it over to him was icing on the cake. "Ahhh," he sighed happily, feeling the power of being in charge fortifying him for an all-nighter.


	5. Epilogue

A couple of months later, Molly and Greg are going out. So are Donovan and Anderson. So is Dimmock and being in charge. It's not a group date, they're all testifying against Max Brenner and his gang. However, only Greg and Molly are an actual couple, having gone on more than a few dates since the Brenner case, but they are all sitting in their court-appointed seats. When the testifying part is over, however, D.I. Lestrade and Dr. Hooper are seen walking especially close when they leave the courtroom, whereas Sgt. Sally Donovan drove off in her own police car and Dr. Anderson caught the Tube back. Dimmock, however, is still at the courthouse, because he's giving testimony for another case he's worked on. Apparently, striking while the iron is hot works for him, and he's starting to build himself a better reputation since the Brenner case.

Greg Lestrade sighs, drinking the refilled cup of coffee at the restaurant near St. Bart's. He glances at the roof, only because for him, that's a safe place to look. He's never been in the morgue since, well, since he had to ID Sherlock Holmes. It's hard, because Molly's there, but there are some things he can't help. "Do you miss him?" he asks, suddenly serious. "For a few moments in that warehouse, I almost did."

The long-haired brunette's mouth does something interesting, but her eyes are sad. "Why?"

A corner of the D.I.'s mouth goes up. "Because it would've been him and John in there, that's why. Even if John Watson's straight as an arrow, he would've followed Sherlock's lead as a decoy, but they would've gotten out of it."

"We got out of it," she reminds him, putting her hand on his.

He looks down at their hands and smiles a little. "Yeah, we did, didn't we?" Then he looks up at her trusting face. "Everyone did a great job."

She nods a little. "I don't miss him as much any more." Then her mouth twitches into a smile. "So, did Sally want to go with the t-shirt idea?"

The silver-haired man rolls his eyes. "Honestly, it should read 'Super Lestrade', not 'Daredevil Dimmock', don't you think?"

She laughs, and he begrudgingly smiles back. "Greg," she says, somehow infusing his name with all the love that she has.

He brings her hands to his lips and kisses it briefly, making her blush and duck her head. They're still in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, he knows, but he remembers how she looked in her Christmas dress, naively seductive and hopeful, and the sound of her voice in the warehouse, made of the same metal she cuts corpses with. And he can't wait to see what other surprises Molly Hooper has in store for him. "Molly," he says, holding her hand to his cheek, not sure what else to say, so he doesn't. After all, they have all the time in the world to say what they need to say.

THE END


End file.
